


Steven, Is That My Woobie in Your Stocking (or are you just happy to see me)?

by upquarkAO3



Category: (BP setting in Wakanda only), Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (very new though), EVAH, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, just touch thinky and mopey (not too much), the sappiest saps that ever sapped, with a Holiday tinge (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-25 00:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17110841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upquarkAO3/pseuds/upquarkAO3
Summary: All Bucky and Steve really want for the holidays is each other. But they're star-struck and star-crossed as always ;-)





	Steven, Is That My Woobie in Your Stocking (or are you just happy to see me)?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amethystkrystal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystkrystal/gifts).



> For ak :-) A lil' 'Bucky Recovery in Wakanda' tidbit to warm your mental hearth this holiday season - hope I did your prompt justice! And a 'thank you' to MarvelHolidaySwaps as well - (((allgoodthings))) to everyone in 2019!

[ * ]

It wasn’t what he’d ever been familiar with. Not really.

Bucky rounded his shoulders to scratch into the gravel of the lake border, then tucked his head into the curl of his arm. He was flat on his back watching the sparks from his field fire fly high above him to meet the wide spray of Wakandian stars.

 _It was so beautiful._ Made his throat ache a little, being honest.

And he was here. And well enough to really enjoy it. ‘God, I love this place’ he thought to himself as he scanned the skies, idly looking for any sign of the QuinJet he knew was on its way. But in the meantime star-gazing was a sweet consolation. These lovely lights weren’t anything like the orderly constellations of a Brooklyn cityscape, nor clandestine as the small fires the Howlies set when they were able…which sadly, wasn’t that often. But right now his own flames helped to melt the latent ice of the permafrost the long Winter had brought upon his mind. He wished Steve were here to enjoy this with him, though.

He smiled a little. Felt himself flush from more than the proximal heat of a staid, domesticated campfire.

 **Steve**.

The familiar thrill licked into his body. Then his mind just after. His soul last and forever, lasting forever like he knew it would’ve no matter if they’d ever told each other or not.

Their line as old as time have ever been and yet, still so new. Them like this.

He stretched, catlike, feeling himself relax further. A long inhale pulled the scent of smoke deep into his lungs and he tilted his ribs up into another stretch. It still felt a little weird to be without a left arm – ANY sort of left arm – but to be at ease like this? God, that felt good. Sometimes he could still sense the Chair or the Tank like phantom limbs – the absence of them more present than his own missing flesh had ever been, but it was waning. Not as fast as he’d like, but still.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He’d never say so, though. Too many people (including himself) had worked hard on him for too long to seem ungrateful like that out loud.

Not even to Steve and they told each other most everything. Well, by **now** they **really** had. His forehead smoothed as he smiled. That devilish corner-curling smile Steve had loved in many ways. Now _all_ ways.

He sighed and shifted again, impatient. And then snorted at himself because snipers could be still and wait for far longer that he had this evening and no matter who he’d fought for he’s been the best one of them all. Done more than his share of waiting too, and most of the time under far worse conditions than a slightly cool night under a beautiful sky in Africa.

But still.

He missed Steve.

Had always, he supposed, but more so now. Of course. Couldn’t blame a guy for chasing after what he’s always wanted and finally had within reach.

Within reach.

 **Yeah**.

Soon.

Steve would come soon. Bucky bit down on his lip for a second, then remembered he was alone and chuckled softly at his own turn of phrase. He turned to tuck his cheek into the warmth of the right arm he’d curled under his head. He appreciated the ease of the colorful robes _(so soft!)_ and comfort of goats’ wool blanket underneath his shoulders, sure _(just a bit scratchy)_. More thoughts of Steve eased the itch and lulled a body pleasantly tired from labors simple yet demanding. Soon enough he’d have Steve here to work residual kinks from his muscles and wasn’t that a nice little train of thoughts to ride upon? Soon. Soon enough, now. He yawned, jaw cracking like the resin-filled wood from his little fire. Maybe time for some shut-eye before. Just enough so he could give a proper welcome after a long days’ chores and a longer few weeks’ of absence from one another.

Yeah.

Proper welcomes need proper preparation. His eyes closed and smile deepened, thinking of what he’d already done. The feeling kindled within the curl of his lip and the restive warmth in his body.

Just a little while longer. And then…

_Stevie. Oh sweetheart, what I’ll do with you…._

Bucky was suddenly so sleepy he never even noticed as his thoughts became dreams.

 

~ * ~

 

It wasn’t long afterwards that Steve arrived. He’d rushed through the latest on-site debriefing and allies both Wakandian and rogue - and more importantly, Natasha - had then let him go easily enough. With some knowing smiles and winks, but Steve could care less.

He had a **mission,** dammit.

Unofficial sure, but one he actually wanted.

So it was a simple matter to breeze through sit-reps, decline post official-ness meals, and beg off to ‘go take care of a thing or two’.

Everyone knew it was only one, but they let him go gracefully anyway. Shuri even lent him a new, small glider ‘to practice night maneuvers on’ and Steve was pretty sure there was an extra twinkle in her eye that had nothing to do with fondness for her beloved tech.

Steve followed the distant glow of Bucky’s field-fire after dropping his duffel at his friend’s village house. It was late enough that watchful children were sleeping, and as he skirted the cluster of homes only a few curtains were drawn aside to reveal mirthful, welcoming eyes of the few adults still awake. They knew what Nomad and the White Wolf were to one another and the ease of acceptance in ways large and small was yet another kindness Steve appreciated from this wonderfully complex culture.

Right now, however, his mind was on simpler things, so he smiled absently and offered a little wave here and there, but kept on moving.

Past the boundaries of the village enclave. Past the fenced livestock meadows. Past the fording area where a small creek entered the lake. Bucky loved to swim here when he woke and again after evening chores were through, and Steve had learned to hunt the taste of freshwater on warm skin like one of Pavlov’s dogs. It meant peace, and this flavor he sought as almost nothing else.

He slowed as he walked along the far side, careful to avoid treading heavily upon twigs and other small noisome debris. A little further on was a gravelly nook between two large boulders, and from the char and wood piles he’d spied on previous walks he knew Bucky loved this spot. Close to the new home he cherished yet far enough for a solitary nest to fit the missing pieces he was still calling in.

Enhanced ears straining Steve paused, not wanting to startle. Bucky was a lot better, yes, but it was never a good idea to spook what had once been a ghost.

As his eyes adjusted fully a grin split his cheeks: worry was needless.

Between the rocks, shimmering lake at his feet and flickering coals at his head, Bucky slept. Steve’s heart clenched to realize _how safe_ his friend felt to doze here out in the open, proverbial and otherwise. And asleep on the ground or not, Bucky certainly looked a lot cleaner than **he** did at the moment.

Better to even those odds before anything else, then. But first Steve closed his own eyes and smiled, the day’s worries leaving him easily on the little sigh carrying them. He kept them shut to concentrate on whatever had soothed Bucky to sleep here unguarded. Water lapping. Earth soft under his feet. Faint tinge of hearth smoke from the community across the lake blending with Bucky’s own fire. The bright stars themselves almost; everything being so fresh and clear here. And even if he couldn’t identify any of the fragrant Wakandian flora it didn’t matter because the strongest fictitious scent was of general contentment. Steve stood still for long moments breathing enough of it into his blood to tide him over whatever hurdles the future would hold.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt clean and whole inside. However, when he looked down at himself the reek of his gear kept his reality from matching his mindset. He did manage to stifle a chuckle, knowing Bucky would definitely wake at the sound.

Feeling daring in a way that had nothing to do with rushing headlong into battle, he dropped his utility belt and shucked out of his gear. The grimy uniform followed. He felt naked in a completely different sense as he strode over the small, smooth stones to the water and slipped in noiselessly. He swam far enough out in the shallow lake to float without fear of scraping his toes through the soft mud and debris and rolled to his back. Steve faced the stars, the surface calm and serene enough to reflect their luminescence with barely a ripple. For a little while he lost himself in wonderment; suspended between this sweet earth and the boundless sky with the brilliance of stars equally a part of it all.

He drifted silently until he could feel his fingers pruning up, and finally feeling refreshed inside and out he left the water with a last little finger-wave to Thor somewhere out there in all the cold glory of the nighttime sky. Oops. Guess he had to consider Heimdall then as well and gave a little booty-shake just to be an idiot. He did laugh aloud at the silliness of that and then could not decide if he was piqued or amused when Bucky did NOT wake up to random noise after all.

‘Jerk,’ Steve thought affectionately.

After a moment of self-recrimination in which Steve realized he had nothing clean to dry off with much less dress in, closer observation of Bucky’s creature comforts yielded his blanket. Steve congratulated himself on being deft enough to slide it out from under his friend’s head without rousing him, however, being himself as he was he ultimately decided subterfuge was boring. He finally woke Bucky by standing brazenly over his head and letting lake drip from his hair onto the sleeping face below. Bucky came to with a twitch, glaring with one eye at Steve’s shit-eating grin shining under bright starlight. The sleep-tinged growl in his voice was music to Steve’s ears.

“Is that. My woobie. Wrapped around your _soggy butt_ , Rogers?”

“’Fraid so. Sorry?”

“You **should** be sorry.”

“Probably.”

“You’re **gonna** be sorry.”

“Ya think?”

“That blanket’s itchy; gonna be a pain in your ass.”

“Had worse.”

From the saucy expression he was on the receiving end of, Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was implying him or his dick (or both), but it didn’t stop him from thinking _Steve_ _himself_ could also be a dick. He didn’t say that though, opting instead for an old standby.

“You’re a punk.”

“Uh-huh – yeeoowch!”

Proving himself a master a close-quarter combat even down one arm and with nap-gunk in his eyes, Bucky had twisted to pull both of Steve’s ankles so he wound up sitting down HARD with an ‘oof!’ to punctuate his landing.

“C’mere, you…” he muttered darkly, “…lemme see if there’s any lasting damage.” He made a show of lifting the edge of Steve’s hasty wrap job to peek at his rear, but then decided just to nip him, little pieces of gravel be damned.

Clean Wakandian rock was a hell of a lot easier on the palate than foul Hydra biteguards, anyway.

Steve’s shrill, “OW!” pulled Bucky out of that particular trapdoor before he could fall _too_ far into his head. And laughing at the faux-wounded expression on Steve’s newly fuzzy face while he rubbed his nibbled tush ensured his frame of mind would stay gold. Made it easy to snark some of that unbearable lightness of being right back at him.

“Serves you right, stealing a man’s comfort out from under him. Not fair.”

“Oh, like you stole my heart? **That** what you call fair?”

For a second Bucky just looked at him, unexpectedly breathless. He should’ve known better; Steve Grant Rogers could manipulate a soft spot like no one else. Bucky glowered, chin tucked into the rumpled blanket at Steve’s hip. In the darkness his eyes were as silver as the moon and looked twice as full.

Steve had never seen anything so beautiful.

Still, regardless of new dimensions to their relationship they were still _them_ , so Steve shoved him off so he could finish drying himself. Bucky just chuckled. Then they settled quietly together, perpendicular with Steve’s head on Bucky’s belly so they could both stargaze. Bucky ran careful fingers through Steve’s damp hair, untangling the small knots the lake hadn’t. Wishing he’d been able to do this when Steve had been small, too. He grinned wryly to himself, knowing the little spitfire version would have never allowed any coddling he deemed unnecessary. He lost himself in soft thoughts of past and present, almost startling when Steve spoke.

“Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah, Buck.”

“Yeah? Yeah, I guess so. That time of year already, huh? Time flies or some such.”

“Ain’t like a 1930’s Brooklyn holiday, though.”

They jumped a little bit when large resin pocket snapped out a shower of embers that quickly turned into ash that drifted down over them both.

“’Bout clean as,” Bucky remarked, adding, “Don’t much look like Brooklyn, that’s for sure.”

Steve rolled to face him. “ **Brooklyn** don’t even look like Brooklyn anymore, Buck.”

“I suppose. Like to see for myself someday soon anyways,” he said wistfully.

Steve rolled back, jaw gritted. Bucky was safe here. FINALLY SAFE. And until he could be safe everywhere, Steve wanted him to _just stay put_. But he’d never try to set limits; that would be unfair. Bucky had had too many choices forcibly taken from him for far too long. So he just said, “Yeah pal. Soon.” And hoped that for now, Bucky would drop the topic.

He did of course, knowing Steve better than he knew the sum total of all his own parts he was still aggregating. But this part, the ‘I want to take care of him’ part – this had always been far easier. At least to feel, if not to actually do: no matter the century, Steven G. Rogers had always been a huge PIA. Serum had nothing to do with that. So Bucky started stroking his hair once more, smiling as Steve yawned.

“Tired, doll?”

“A little, maybe.”

The fact that Steve didn’t puff up with indignation at implied fragility let Bucky know how exhausted he really must be. “Close your eyes for a bit, darlin’,” he crooned. “I’ll wake you in a little while. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Jus’ a minute or two. Don’ wanna waste a second,” Steve slurred. His eyes were closing already and Bucky could feel his shoulders relax where he’d wedged himself up against Bucky’s left side.

He kept stroking Steve’s hair, these hands capable of such mayhem so gentle now. Soft and easy, fiddling a little with the strands as they dried and the breeze played with them just as he was.

Bucky’s voice was a whisper of hope and promise from the deepest chamber of his heart as he tipped his head forward to murmur, “Sleep, sweetheart. Rest easy; I gotcha. Because when you wake up… _oh, what I’m gonna do with you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> fun factoid: Bucky isn't just being cute nick-naming his blankie: some military folks do call their field poncho-liners 'woobies'


End file.
